


A Series of Unfortunate Interruptions

by BlueMoon0nTheRise



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley's Flat (Good Omens), First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, God Ships Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Humor, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, Sexual Tension, interruptions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:22:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22526248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueMoon0nTheRise/pseuds/BlueMoon0nTheRise
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale have been getting closer and closer for thousands of years and, a few years before Armageddon is heralded, both of them start wondering whether they could take things further - or at least confess the depth of their feelings for one another. The trouble is, they keep getting interrupted.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 124





	1. Aziraphale's bookshop

Pale sunlight poured through the windows of the bookshop. Golden letters on leather spines winked in its glow, and a hand fluttered over them anxiously, searching for something.

‘Aha!’ Aziraphale exclaimed.

He tugged out the book he’d been looking for, and moved it gently to the counter, his hands smoothing away imagined dust particles before he opened it.

He had been worried he’d misplaced it. He’d been reading it the last time Crowley had dropped by, and he hadn’t seen it since. The demon must have just stuffed it onto the nearest shelf he saw.

Luckily, it was still pristine and ready for its new owner when she came to collect it later.

Hmm. Maybe Crowley had ‘misplaced’ it deliberately. It would be a shame to lose this one.

Aziraphale let out a small sigh, and straightened his bowtie. He softly deposited the book behind the counter and out of sight, and headed towards his desk. He had work to do today.

A few minor miracles, a few minor curses (for balance) and a report on demonic goings-on on Earth. He’d been genuinely watching a few other demons for weeks, but he needed to put something together on Crowley too, and they needed to coordinate their stories.

Aziraphale could note down what he was doing for him today of course – but a few job losses in the city were not exactly befitting of Hell’s supposed darling, so he needed to think of something better. Something that had already happened, completely of its own accord. He couldn’t have Crowley doing real evil for his sake.

Humming under his breath, Aziraphale checked his route into town on the map. Very straightforward really. He should be back in time for lunch. 

He hurried upstairs his living area, into the kitchen, and filled his waiting thermos with tea. He also selected a small book of poetry to read on the way.

Perfect.

Back downstairs, he had one arm in his winter coat when he heard long fingers drumming on his desk, and he jumped and whirled around.

‘Leaving so soon, angel?’ Crowley drawled, smirking at the look of horror on Aziraphale’s face.

‘Really!’ he huffed. He jammed his second arm into the coat. ‘How many times?’

‘If I rang the doorbell, I’d miss that adorable look of fear and disgust you put on.’

Aziraphale huffed again, clutching his thermos in both hands. 

‘I could have been…indecent.’

Crowley raised one eyebrow, his smirk widening.

‘Or… busy!’ he added, feeling his cheeks flush a little. ‘You should really give an angel the choice as to whether they wish to socialise with you. I have a very busy schedule.’

‘What were you saying before about indecency?’ Crowley asked. ‘I liked the sound of that better.’

He smiled fully, and lowered his glasses to reveal his glittering eyes.

Aziraphale blushed harder, and shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot. His coat felt much too warm all of a sudden. He also couldn’t think of a single retort.

‘Goodbye’, he said instead, abruptly, after a too-long pause. He turned quickly away and barrelled out the front door onto the street.

Of course Crowley was already outside, behind him.

He hadn’t put his glasses back on, and had miracled himself far too close to the angel – apparently Hell didn’t teach you about personal space. Presumably it was partly to prevent passers-by from noticing his yellow, snake-like eyes, but still.

It made Aziraphale’s too-warm coat feel even more restrictive.

‘It can’t be that important’, Crowley said.

‘Well it is’, Aziraphale replied. Then: ‘Actually…’

‘Yes?’

They paused, eyes locked. Early morning commuters raced past in their cars.

‘Actually, I do need to talk to you. I suppose I could do that first, now that you’re here. Although I really would have preferred that you checked what was most convenient for me.’

He pushed the front door back open, and gestured for Crowley to enter.

* * *

Somehow, the conversation about evil-doing got forgotten, and the report lay on Aziraphale’s desk, still unwritten.

Instead, they had breakfast together, and Aziraphale tried, at length, to get the demon to appreciate the poetry he’d been planning to read on the bus.

‘Sing no sad songs for me?’ Crowley repeated, incredulous.

The shop was quiet, and they had dragged two armchairs into the back corner, nestled between two sets of shelves.

Aziraphale sat upright, holding the slim volume of poetry in one hand, while Crowley draped himself across the other chair, limbs spilling over every side. His feet were rested by Aziraphale’s elbow.

‘And if thou wilt, forget?’ Crowley went on. ‘You’d hope the person who loved you the most would sing at least a few sad songs for you, wouldn’t you?’

‘She just wants her lover to be happy’, Aziraphale explained. ‘Even if she dies.’

Crowley rolled his eyes so hard his pupils almost disappeared into his skull.

‘That’s very noble, but I’d prefer to be remembered. I hope you’ll be _incredibly_ miserable.’

Aziraphale sighed.

‘This is dire’, Crowley said. ‘She’s so…mopey.’

‘She is imagining her own death.’

They fell silent. It was a stalemate, a comfortable one. 

Aziraphale continued reading his book. Clearly, Crowley couldn’t be trusted to enjoy a nice spot of poetry on a Tuesday morning and, well, it was his loss.

He turned the page and hummed happily, taking in every last word.

Then he registered what had been said.

‘Why do you want me to be miserable?’

Crowley looked a bit startled.

‘Well, I’m a demon.’

‘But you like me’, Aziraphale said. ‘I can feel it radiating off you.’

Crowley’s mouth fell open, just a little. He closed it quickly, but retracted his arms and legs into his body.

Aziraphale frowned. Perhaps he shouldn’t have put it like that. Now he thought about it, he’d never actually put voice to that particular observation of his. Although, given that Crowley was the person pouring affection into every space Aziraphale occupied, the angel thought the shocked face was a bit much. Wasn’t he supposed to notice?

‘And?’ Crowley said.

‘Well, “liking” someone generally implies that you want them to be happy.’

He paused.

‘Oh’, he said.

His cheeks reddened for the second time that morning. His heart beat a little faster.

He looked up at Crowley again. The demon’s expression was odd. He looked a little angry, a little defensive – and perhaps a little hopeful too.

‘Crowley’, Aziraphale said, slowly.

The demon leaned forwards in his chair. Aziraphale mirrored him. He wanted to look him in the eye, to make him understand. 

They were an angel and a demon. He’d spent most of the last 6000 years pretending that he hadn’t noticed Crowley’s interest, and almost the same amount of time denying his own fascination. He’d given up on the latter in the last 200 years or so, but just because he knew it was there didn’t mean he had to do anything about it. He couldn’t do anything about it, and their arrangement suited him fine.

He didn’t lean backwards though. He also didn’t voice a single one of the thoughts pouring through his head. To hear Crowley as good as confirm his feelings... it threw him off.

And, he knew where this was going if neither of them came to their senses. Crowley’s yellow eyes blazed, and his tongue ran along his lips as he watched Aziraphale grapple with himself.

He was used to Crowley’s sentimental sideways glances, but this expression was definitely new. Or maybe it wasn’t. It was certainly more intense than before. It was love, yes, but there was desire there too, and Aziraphale wasn’t used to someone looking at him that way.

Least of all the demon he’d do anything for.

They were speeding towards a tipping point.

Aziraphale wasn’t sure exactly what lay beyond, but every second that he gazed at Crowley’s eyes and lips and tongue he wanted to know more. Beyond felt magnetic, exciting. Beyond made his heart flutter in his chest.

And yet, he was an angel. He wasn’t supposed to go beyond. He was supposed to turn back.

He’d probably done something wrong to provoke that expression in the first place. Angels weren’t supposed to be desirable, they were supposed to be ethereal and untouchable.

Crowley reached out to touch him.

This was it. Aziraphale felt his heart skip several beats. He knew that if he wanted he could turn away now, could tell Crowley no, could cite his angelic nature and retreat.

He could.

Crowley was careful about it, watching his angel’s reaction as he laced his fingers into Aziraphale’s curls. Aziraphale felt too stunned to move, too happy. He let Crowley tilt his face slightly upwards, let him rest their foreheads together, their noses. Their lips were millimetres apart and he couldn't breathe.

He felt like he was floating.

‘Are you sure?’ Crowley asked.

His voice was low, barely above a whisper.

Aziraphale nodded wordlessly.

The front door crashed open, and a horribly familiar voice rang through the shop.

‘Aziraphale?’ said Gabriel.

The pair sprang apart. Aziraphale gasped aloud, but didn’t answer. He was staring at Crowley in horror, completely panicked.

‘Aziraphale!’ Gabriel shouted again.

The angel rushed to stand and reveal himself from behind the bookshelf and, in his hurry, tripped over his own feet.

Crowley slunk into the shadows without a sound, but Aziraphale crashed, face down, onto the floor of his shop. The shelves shuddered, and the unwelcome face of the Archangel poked around one of them, his eyes trained downwards. He didn’t look amused.

Aziraphale scrambled to his feet. He tried to brush the dust from the floor off his clothes, but he was painfully aware of how flustered he was. He could hear the manic thud of his heart in his ears, and felt sure Gabriel would be able to hear it too.

He wasn’t sure if it was because of the intrusion or just the thrill of Crowley’s fingers in his hair.

‘Bad time?’ Gabriel asked, flashing a smile.

‘Well yes, actually. I –’

‘Good, good. I need your latest report by the time the sun sets. I need updates fast. Particularly on the demon Crowley. He’s been quiet lately, and good sources tell me he’s plotting something big.’

‘Right-o. Not a problem’, Aziraphale said.


	2. Crowley's flat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for swearing (from the start) and a not-too-gentle reference to murder at the end.
> 
> I was going to post this more slowly, but I accidentally wrote the whole thing in a weekend and now I wish to share my ridiculous creation, so we'll see how that goes.

After Gabriel vacated the bookshop, it took a huge amount of self-restraint for Crowley not to push Aziraphale up against his beloved books and continue exactly where they had left off. Judging by his angel’s ragged breathing and pink cheeks Crowley thought he wouldn’t have objected per se, but he could also see that he was shaken by the close call, and he was quite keen for their first kiss not to be tainted by Aziraphale worrying about divine repercussions.

It had been so close, though.

He allowed himself a moment to imagine what could have happened had that Satan-forsaken Archangel not barged in. _Fuck_.

Seething quietly, he emerged from the shadows. Given the battle raging in his head he smiled really quite serenely at Aziraphale, not that the angel seemed to notice. He was looking blearily around as if he’d just been hit in the head, his hands curling and uncurling fitfully at his sides.

In fact, he barely even seemed to notice that Crowley had reappeared.

‘And I thought Gabriel was incapable of being any more of a dickhead’, Crowley said viciously, by way of announcing his presence. 

‘Yes’, Aziraphale replied. He seemed distracted.

* * *

A year passed before an appropriate moment to continue that particular – conversation – arose.

They’d seen each other plenty in the meantime, but usually the encounters were brief – negotiating who would do what in terms of head office workload, and then perhaps going to lunch.

It wasn’t awkward, it was just how things were for the time being. The easy intimacy remained.

The trouble was, Crowley could feel himself spiralling quite rapdily from besotted to _obsessed_.

Now he’d got a taste of what it might be like, he wanted to experience everything.

Beaming smiles, brushing hands and cheeks flushed with wine – once a source of pleasure for him – were now exquisite torture. Watching the angel savour a meal was even worse, and Crowley would have started turning down lunch invitations if they weren’t one of the few times he got to speak with Aziraphale about something that wasn’t work.

If it was anyone else, Crowley would have sworn they were doing it on purpose. The knowledge that this was just how Aziraphale _was_ was both thrilling and deeply infuriating.

How could an angel be so naturally _tempting_? This had been so much easier to deal with when reciprocation was a hopeless dream.

Of course, on top of not wanting to spoil their whole relationship with a reckless moment of uncontrolled desire, there was the tiny issue that Hell would destroy him if they found out about it. His friendship with that angel was risky enough, but a full-blown romance? He’d be finished. 

The lust part would be ok – and there really was no shortage of lust on his part – but he knew it was also painfully obvious to everyone who saw them together that he adored that ridiculous creature with every fibre of his being.

Hell wasn’t so big on adoration.

Crowley scowled at the wispy white clouds outside the window until they darkened and poured, then lay back and listened to the pedestrians hurrying past outside, ensuring a good percentage of them got soaked by passing cars.

* * *

A soft knocking on the door of his flat announced the arrival of Aziraphale, and Crowley rose reluctantly to greet him, his mind lost in the storm.

The angel in his doorway was wet and bedraggled. His usually soft curls were slick against his head, and water ran down his face and soaked into his coat. Crowley might have felt guilty, but the rainwater made him smell different – slightly earthier, tangier – and he liked it a lot. He must have been outside when it started, and too damn obedient to miracle himself an umbrella.

His mind returning to the present, he offered tea and biscuits, and the pair made their way to the sofa. He knew that Aziraphale did not miss how the sky brightened outside, but the angel made no comment, and they fell comfortably into talking about their arrangement. After all, it was the reason for the visit. He should be engaged in this conversation, Crowley thought, but he found himself watching the movement of Aziraphale’s lips rather than listening to the words that escaped them.

‘Heaven were really delighted about the "intelligence" on your HS2 plans’, Aziraphale reported, sipping happily at the tea Crowley had provided. ‘That really was a genius idea.’

‘You’re welcome’, Crowley said, watching how Aziraphale’s hands clutched the mug, how he pursed his lips slightly as he sipped, and how he gave a little contented sigh as the liquid hit his throat.

‘It really is perfect’, Aziraphale repeated. ‘I’m not saying it’s ideal that so much money is going to be wasted, and I have my reservations about its effect on wildlife, but at least it’s not directly hurting people.’

‘I damn well hope it will hurt people, otherwise I’m going to be in big trouble.’

‘Yes, well’, Aziraphale said. ‘I’m sure I can reshuffle some finances when the time comes so that it’s not too profound. I’m so glad you’re not out there starting wars.’

He beamed, and the force of that smile really knocked Crowley sideways.

‘Aziraphale’, he said. 

The angel looked sideways at him.

‘Yes?’ he said.

‘I like it when you’re glad.’

‘Oh!’ Aziraphale exclaimed, and Crowley couldn’t help but smile at the look of delight on the angel’s face. ‘Thank you.’

He was pleased to delight him, but the downside of his comment was that it stalled the conversation. He watched Aziraphale sip his tea, and nibble on one of the biscuits on the coffee table.

Oh, _fuck it_.

‘Do you remember what happened this time last year?’ he asked.

Aziraphale’s hesitation confirmed that he did remember, and Crowley was unable to stop a grin spreading across his face. Thank Satan.

‘Yes’, Aziraphale admitted.

Crowley took a moment to try and work out what Aziraphale was feeling. He was hesitant, yes, but just like that morning in the bookshop, he completely failed to protest.

Not that a lack of protest was enough for Crowley, but it was a start.

‘I’d very much like to give it another go’, he said.

Aziraphale went pink.

He didn’t say anything at first, and Crowley forced himself to sit still, to wait for a response. He needed Aziraphale to say it out loud. He didn’t just want a wordless nod, he wanted to hear it, and he wanted his angel to want him enough to be able to articulate it.

‘I think’, Aziraphale said, his voice wavering slightly, but his gaze steady. ‘I think that would be wonderful.’

It felt easy this time, to reach out and caress Aziraphale’s face with his hands, to run his fingers through the angel’s curls.

It felt easy to move those hands to his waist and to pull him in.

‘Can I hold you, angel?’ Crowley asked, checking the expression in Aziraphale’s eyes.

He nodded, just as he had done a year before.

Crowley drew him close, let him shift his feet up onto the seat, and then pulled them both backwards until they lay horizontal on the couch, Aziraphale half on top of him. He moved one hand up to nestle in his hair, the other stayed on his waist.

He was very surprised when one of Aziraphale’s hands moved to reciprocate the affection by sliding inside his shirt, caressing his exposed chest.

‘Angel…’ he breathed.

The hand was quickly retracted. Damn.

‘I’m sorry’, Aziraphale said, lifting his head from where it rested on the right side of Crowley’s chest. ‘I didn’t mean –’

‘I hope you did.’

‘Oh’, Aziraphale said, reddening again. ‘I suppose I did mean to – yes.’

Feeling emboldened, Crowley miracled the rest of his shirt buttons undone, and when it fell open a moment later, he was rewarded with wide blue eyes, and angelic fingers that traced their way from belly to throat oh-so-slowly.

It was taking a good deal of restraint not to writhe underneath Aziraphale’s touch, but he managed it, instead watching the angel’s enraptured expression.

‘You know, I’m surprised’, he admitted, when Aziraphale reached his throat and looked, once again, into his face. ‘I thought you’d _never_ want… this.’

‘I’m still a little anxious about what head office might think’, Aziraphale admitted. ‘Very anxious, actually, for both of us. But’ – and he let out a breathless laugh – ‘you’re my – the only person – and the idea of being allowed to touch you like this is –’

Crowley chuckled, holding Aziraphale closer.

‘I know angel’, he said.

He ran his hands back up to cradle Aziraphale’s face as the angel moved in to kiss him.

Gabriel’s materialisation didn’t make a sound, but Crowley spotted him on the edge of his vision in the split second before he closed his eyes to kiss his angel.

Crowley had mellowed somewhat over the years – a combination of the bad influence of the angel currently pinning him to his couch as well as, simply, the passage of time. He wasn’t prone to fits of rage anymore. He couldn’t remember the last time he had truly been consumed by it. 

Not until today.

Gabriel materialised with his back to them, luckily, giving Crowley just enough time to disappear. 

He didn’t go far – just to the street outside – but he would have gladly murdered that Archangel. Tied him up in cursed chains and let him rot. Made him live through every misery ever experienced on this planet. Dragged him screaming from Heaven and watched him writhe in boiling sulphur.

Hellfire blazed through him, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to go back and see Aziraphale, not today. He needed to get rid of this anger, and although he was generally abstinent when it came to murdering people these days, he was sure no one would mind if the local human trafficking gang was brutally dismembered. 

Nonetheless, as he stalked away, he strained his hearing to figure out what was going on inside his flat, to check that Aziraphale was ok.

‘I’m investigating!’ he heard the angel protest. ‘You did tell me to keep an eye on Crowley, and that’s exactly what I’m doing. Although it would be appreciated if you could warn me before appearing like that. What if he’d been in?’

Crowley smiled. Maybe not dismembered, then. Maybe just stabbed.


	3. Gabriel's (Not So) Great Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little baby of a chapter, and one I'm a bit anxious to post. Stick with me!

Perhaps if the Archangel Gabriel had been a little less concerned with paperwork and team building exercises and a little more concerned with observing the world around him, the memo he received that morning, 6009 years after the world was created, would have come as less of a shock.

As with all memos from the Almighty, it wasn’t written down or delivered by a courier. It arrived in his mind the moment I chose to relay it to him.

‘Dear Gabriel’, it began.

Gabriel jerked awake. Archangels didn’t need to sleep of course, but I understood that shouting and filing all day long could be tiring, so I didn’t comment on it.

‘Your commitment to the Great Plan is appreciated. Soon you will see it come to fruition, although perhaps not in the way you expect.’

‘You know about the Antichrist and Armageddon already, and I trust you are preparing the angels for that battle.’

‘You will also remember the Principality Aziraphale, who has been on Earth since the beginning.’

At this point in my message Gabriel started to look a little irritated. He enjoyed my praise, but he didn’t relish the idea that Aziraphale might have a significant role to play in my Plan.

Well, I call it a Plan. It’s more of an outline. 

‘As you will know, he has been working with the demon Crowley for the last 6008.58 years.’

‘What?!’ Gabriel shouted. If he’d been sipping on a hot drink, he would have spat it across the room. 

He also somewhat proved my earlier point about his lack of observation skills. Not that it mattered. He wasn’t an Archangel for his observation skills, he was an Archangel because of his loyalty. 

At least, I assumed so.

‘They have been ensuring balance is maintained between Good and Evil through the millennia, and in so doing they have fallen in love with the Earth and, yes, each other.’

‘Fucking hell’, said Gabriel, which I thought was a pretty good pun, albeit unintentional and a wildly inappropriate thing to say in front of the Almighty.

‘It is of vital importance that you do not harm either one of them for this.’

End of message.

As you can imagine, this message did not please Gabriel, although he had to pretend to be pleased, because the message was from me.

In truth, I had very little reason for relaying this message. Call it a whim. I’d considered ordering him to smite them both instead, but there’s something about seeing Archangel Gabriel trying to hide his fury that’s just too fun to pass up.

And that was the end of the story.

It _should_ have been the end of the story. 

However, Gabriel is an expert at following my instructions and doing exactly what he wants, even if the two things seem to contradict.

Low on admin work, and having scared the last intern, Daniel, so badly that he had not yet appeared today, Gabriel took it upon himself to research Aziraphale’s relationship with Crowley. Unable to stop it, per my ineffable instructions, he instead showed his findings to Sandalphon, with the intention of using them to berate Aziraphale with at a later date.

Sandalphon enjoyed verbal abuse, but he was an angel of action, and suggested to Gabriel that it would be more fun to _practically_ interfere with the relationship (without obstructing or harming, of course).

By looking through archival monitoring footage, the angels noticed that up until now neither Aziraphale nor Crowley had admitted their feelings to one another, even though their mutual attraction was blindingly obvious. 

(I’m rather an expert at blinding people, so you should trust me that the magnetism was, in fact, blinding. Modern physics will never solve that one.)

The angels surmised that after 6009 years they might want to confess aforementioned obvious feelings, and although the very human notion of a romantic or sexual relationship perplexed _them_ , they suspected that the pair who’d resided on Earth so long would be likely to follow the human model of things.

Thus, they came up with their – to them, hilarious, but to anyone else, juvenile, plan – if Aziraphale and Crowley were about to kiss, Gabriel would appear, with some made-up extra work for the Principality.

Wouldn’t it be fun if an entire heavenly order just went up in smoke? Just imagine. 

He would continue this, until they no longer found it funny, or until – more likely – Crowley attempted to kill him.

It wasn’t technically against my Plan, although it didn’t chime with the spirit of it.

That being said, the idea of the demon Crowley taking a swipe at Gabriel did please me somewhat.

And, more to the point, Aziraphale _had_ given away that sword, and he was still due some divine punishment for that, after all.


	4. After the Antichrist

‘Well I’ll be damned’, Aziraphale said, glowing at the idea of being a godfather alongside Crowley.

It wasn’t just that they could save the world, or even that they could save the child, although both points immensely added to the appeal and indeed necessity of the idea. It was that it was a truly collaborative, and unmistakeably good venture. 

‘It’s not so bad once you get used to it’, Crowley said. 

He grinned, and the expression – arrogance and wit and glittering yellow eyes – made Aziraphale’s heart skip a beat. Every inch of him exuded charm.

Then he realised what Crowley had said.

‘Don’t joke about that!’

‘Relax, angel’, he said, waving a careless hand to dismiss it. ‘You’ll never be damned. You’re too _good_.’

Aziraphale gave a small smile, but he felt his glow diminish. He did wonder if that was true anymore. 

He’d been floating in a grey area for far too long, and these past few years with Crowley had only made that grey darker. Actually, these past few _thousand_ years with him had been pretty corrupting.

He picked up a book from a table at random and ran a hand over the cover nervously.

His own intentions were good, that much was true, and he maintained that Crowley was, deep down, a wonderful, kind, compassionate being, but Heaven wasn’t built on grey areas. Rules were right, and bending them was wrong, and Aziraphale was bent out of shape completely.

‘Angel?’ Crowley said, and Aziraphale realised he’d gone quiet.

‘Just _thinking_ ’, he said.

Crowley huffed.

‘About how you can’t possibly be a good angel because of the gut wrenchingly attractive but morally bankrupt company you keep? Or am I just projecting?’

‘I’m not morally bankrupt!’

Crowley shrugged.

‘Rules aren’t necessarily right, angel’, he said, gently.

Aziraphale sighed. They’d not talked like this for a while, and as much as, in an ideal world, he would love to get back into things like _attraction_ and _morality_ , he’d almost been hoping that Crowley had gone off the whole idea, just because it might be easier. 

Working with him, being near him – they were joys in themselves. He could survive not acknowledging the intrusive little desires at the back of his head, but he wasn’t sure he could survive his demon _not surviving_.

‘They might not always be right, but they are necessary’, he said, as if saying it out loud made it true. 

He straightened himself, and clasped the tome in his lap a little too tightly.

‘If this godfather thing goes wrong, rule-breaking will be the least of our problems’, Crowley said lightly. 

The angel didn’t respond.

‘Aziraphale…’

Still he said nothing, and he looked down at his lap to avoid the beguiling stare building in Crowley’s eyes. 

He heard the demon take a long breath in – force of habit, funny how you fell into something like that – and then he felt two soft, warms lips press gently against his forehead.

He closed his eyes. It was the first time Crowley’s lips had successfully touched him, he realised, and with Gabriel nowhere to be seen, he felt his shaky resolution to back off crumble, and his arguments about _rules_ and _righteousness_ became nonsensical in his mind.

Just for a moment, he imagined getting up angrily, asking Crowley to _just leave, please_. He couldn’t decide if he’d be met with hisses and scorned sarcasm or forlorn golden eyes. He should do it; it shouldn’t matter how Crowley reacted.

It did though.

And they’d been breaking the rules for 6000 years now. They were friends. They worked together. Why would this be the thing that finally betrayed them?

‘Are you trying to tempt me?’ he asked, eyes still closed. 

Crowley kissed him again, this time on the cheek.

‘Could be’, he said. He moved to the other cheek, and then Aziraphale’s neck. ‘Is it working?’

‘Mhmm.’

‘Open your eyes, angel.’

A loud knocking on the door interrupted them. Aziraphale ignored it, but the sound kept going. He watched Crowley’s expression switch from soft to murderous. 

Oh _no_.

* * *

They were walking through St James’s Park. 

They hadn’t even thought of an excuse that day. It was beautiful outside, the birds were singing, and there were far too many people – according to Aziraphale – ‘loitering’ on the street outside his shop, so they’d closed it up avoid the loiterers turning into customers.

They were talking about _stuff_ – gloriously mundane _stuff_ – and Crowley felt light. Aziraphale’s voice was relaxed for once in his life, and his calm mood put Crowley at ease too. He couldn’t look over his shoulder for demons when Aziraphale’s smile was putting even the gorgeous sunny day to shame.

After a while, they slowed to a standstill under a huge weeping willow, and Crowley enjoyed letting the Latin name - _Salix babylonica_ – roll off his tongue almost as much as he enjoyed the little interested ‘oh!’ the information elicited, and how the leaves on the huge tree dappled the light on the skin of his angel.

‘It’s so awful to think that one day this might all be gone’, Aziraphale said, out of the blue, gazing up at the branches.

Crowley was startled. A little of the lightness fluttered away.

‘No it won’t’, he said. ‘It’s going fine.’

‘Not that’, Aziraphale said, sighing. ‘I meant climate change. It seems that She’ll get her way whatever happens. This is your side’s doing, I suppose.’

He looked miserable all of a sudden, and a little reproachful, and Crowley could help but feel attacked.

‘This is all humans, angel’, he said, ice creeping into his response, unbidden. 

‘Oh no – I know _you’d_ never. I wasn’t… you’re much too nice to –’

‘I’m a demon, Aziraphale’, Crowley snarled, the irritation taking hold. In an instant, Aziraphale was pressed against the willow and Crowley was pressed against him, teeth bared.

‘I know that, I –’

‘I’m not _nice_.’

Aziraphale looked at his face. Their noses were brushing, and their bodies were flush together.

‘Well _this_ is nice.’

‘Angel…’ Crowley warned. ‘You can’t say things like that… out loud.’

‘Oh’, Aziraphale said, as if the thought had never occurred to him. He seemed to brighten, and his eyes glittered in a decidedly un-angelic way. ‘Can I do things?’

He grabbed Crowley’s lapels.

Suddenly it was Gabriel’s face, not Crowley’s, an inch from Aziraphale, and the angel full-on screamed with the shock. He leapt backwards and banged his head on the tree, hard.

Crowley, meanwhile, was thoroughly surprised to be watching this from ten feet away, but although he lunged at the Archangel as soon as he realised, Gabriel melted away, unscathed.

* * *

It was a warm summer’s evening in Soho, and Crowley decided to drop by the bookshop after finishing his nanny shift with Warlock. He wanted to check what Aziraphale had been telling the boy, to make sure neither of them was laying it on too thick and ruining the plan. He only had one more year until he would come into his power, so he needed to be perfect.

He also wanted to see his angel, but that was besides the point.

‘Hello my dear’, Aziraphale said, holding open the door to let Crowley in. ‘How was Warlock?’

‘Disappointingly good’, Crowley said, wrinkling his nose and heading straight for the back of the shop. ‘Have you been pulling extra gardening shifts? Because really I’m better at both gardening and nannying.’

‘No!’ Aziraphale protested, and Crowley supposed he had to believe him, him being an angel and all.

-

It didn’t take them long to open the wine, to lounge together on the sofa. 

The vintage Aziraphale selected was deep and rich and smooth on his tongue, and it went straight to Crowley’s head that particular night. He thought the same must be happening to Aziraphale. The angel’s lips were stained red, and his cheeks and nose flushed to match. He giggled easily, beamed radiantly, flung his arms wide as he spoke, and was very, very generous on the refill front.

He also did not protest in the slightest when Crowley stretched himself to his full length across the couch. His legs draped themselves over Aziraphale’s lap, and the angel simply rested his hands there and smoothed the fabric of his jeans.

-

‘The thing is’, Crowley slurred. 

What _time_ was it? 

It was his head in Aziraphale’s lap now, and the angel had obligingly threaded his hands into Crowley’s hair. Cool, angelic fingers on his scalp, gently running through his hair, brushing an eyelash from his cheek…

‘The thing is…’

He looked up at his angel’s face, trying to remember what he’d been talking about. 

Blue.

Like the sea. Blue and grey and green, powerful and serene all at once. Those eyes could drag him to his death, but he’d enjoy floating away if he got to watch the sky as he went.

Nope. Definitely gone.

Oh yes.

‘I can’t believe they let that unicorn go’, he said eventually, giggling. ‘Why didn’t you save it?’

He continued gazing at those eyes, and at the little crease between Aziraphale’s eyebrows as he pondered the question.

‘I think’, he said, stumbling over his words too, quite as pissed as Crowley was, ‘that… I thought it must be God’s plan. If She’d wanted unicorns to survive She’d have saved it. Or made it asexual.’

Crowley giggled as Aziraphale stumbled over the ‘x’ in asexual.

‘Like a worm’, Crowley said, giggling more.

‘A big… horned worm’, Aziraphale said. He snorted. ‘I thought demons were meant to have horns.’

‘I’m not a horned worm.’

‘And a pointy – tail – thing.’

‘Worms don’t have tails.’

They caught each other’s eyes and dissolved into helpless laughter.

‘Thank you, ‘Ziraphale’, Crowley said, his head lolling against his angel’s thigh. ‘I never – you make me –’

‘Drunk?’, Aziraphale suggested.

‘Yes.’

He didn’t want to sober up either, not just yet. His vision was fuzzy and his face was warm, and he was enjoying the proximity and the silliness.

Aziraphale smelled liked old books and wine and _home_.

‘I like it’, he said, nuzzling his face up against Aziraphale’s belly. ‘More wine?’

Aziraphale looked like he might be going to object, but Crowley didn’t wait for his response to miracle another glass into both of their hands, and although the angel blinked at it, bemused, he took a sip anyway. Crowley grinned. He was adorable.

He was also very drunk – an attempt at a second sip caused his grip to slip, and more than half the glass sloshed over the edge and onto Crowley’s face.

‘Oh Crowley!’ he exclaimed, his face a caricature of horror.

He then dumped the mostly-empty glass unceremoniously on the floor and, without further explanation, scooped Crowley into his arms and carried him – yes, carried him – back through the bookshop and up the stairs to his flat.

What was happening? 

Crowley’s heart pounded, and he suddenly felt a lot more sober. It shouldn’t have surprised him, but Aziraphale was strong, and this was probably the most arousing thing he’d done since they’d known each other, including sliding his hands all over Crowley’s torso while literally lying on top of him. _Fuck_. Fuck fuckity fuck.

To Crowley’s slight disappointment, Aziraphale was only carrying him to the kitchen. 

Once there, he tried valiantly to wipe the wine from Crowley’s face, but his hands were too clumsy. Gently, Crowley took the towel from his grip and dried himself, then easily caught the angel’s hands in his own. Aziraphale was earnest and concerned and flustered, and he hoped it might calm him.

The angel’s hands were soft and still cool, and they were attached to the most fantastically beautiful being he had ever laid eyes on. The flushed face and unbuttoned waistcoat only made Crowley love him more.

‘For the love of Satan, kiss me angel.’

Technically, this kiss was not a failure. 

Their mouths did collide, sort of, but Aziraphale really was too drunk to coordinate any kind of coherent bodily movement, and despite Crowley’s best efforts, he definitely wasn’t as sober as he’d thought a minute ago. 

It was quite painful actually – too much nose and teeth, and then they both collapsed onto the floor, giggling weakly.

‘Tomorrow’, Aziraphale said softly. His eyelids were already drifting downwards.

Crowley stroked his hair and watched as his breathing became slow and steady. His own body begged for release too, but he wanted to get a blanket for Aziraphale, and he probably should get this alcohol out of his system before succumbing to sleep. 

It was only when he wobbled to his feet that he noticed Gabriel’s presence. He was standing in the kitchen doorway looking supremely unapproving.

‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ Crowley asked, barging past him in his search for a blanket.


	5. After the end of the world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy early Valentine's Day, folks! I hope you've enjoyed this little story of mine so far, and I hope you'll like this final chapter too.
> 
> I'm hoping to write more Good Omens fics in the not-too-distant future - maybe see you there?

That wasn’t the last they saw of Gabriel.

But it was the last time they sprung apart for his benefit.

When Aziraphale finally woke up – and when Crowley cured his hangover, both with magic and with breakfast – he made good on that kitchen-floor promise.

It was sweet and perfect – a tip toe thank you pressed against Crowley’s lips as he handed Aziraphale his tea.

A barely perceptible throat-clearing alerted them both to a somewhat unwelcome guest.

‘What will make you go away, Gabriel?’ Crowley asked. 

‘I am rather confused as to the purpose of these visits’, Aziraphale chimed in. ‘At first, I assumed your timing was coincidental. But it’s not, and you don’t seem to have any interest in enacting divine retribution for… this.’

He flushed, and Crowley thought that if he was discorporated by a blushing angel – well, it wasn’t dignified, but it could definitely be worse.

‘Oh I have plenty of interest’, Gabriel corrected him. ‘I’d have you both publicly executed, but apparently that’s not part of Her Plan.’

‘In Her Plan do you play the pervy, irrelevant uncle?’ Crowley asked.

* * *

That morning had been dreamlike, Aziraphale thought. It was all feather-light kisses and furtive glances, as if they were human teenagers whose supervising adults had nipped out to the shops, and not millennia-old supernatural beings who were supposed to be preparing for war.

But the bubble had popped as lunchtime loomed, and reality set in. 

In the end, it took them quite a while to fully enjoy the fact that Gabriel had given up on them.

Primarily this was because both of them – Aziraphale in particular – were somewhat nervous about Hell’s reaction to all this. Perhaps the Almighty didn’t mind an illicit love affair between angel and demon – but not minding and actively supporting were not the same thing. Aziraphale did not believe that She would protect his demon if Hell noticed their relationship, and he would much rather continue as before than lose Crowley altogether.

After all, ‘before’ really was the reason that he was now so much hoping for an ‘after’ that involved things like kissing and holding hands openly in the park, and perhaps other forms of physical affection that this corporation _definitely_ wanted, and which Aziraphale increasingly found himself fantasizing about. 

It was all very _distracting_. 

It wasn’t just lovestruck concern though. They both still had work to do for head office, nannying to do for Warlock and Aziraphale had his bookshop. Aziraphale found himself working particularly hard to provide good information on the other demons he was tracking – sort of as an apology for managing to fall in love with the first one he was tasked with keeping an eye on. Crowley was travelling a lot too these days, and Aziraphale supposed that his newfound work ethic meant that Crowley had to do something similar as a counterbalance. He felt a bit bad about that.

And then Armageddon kicked off, and everything moved so fast. It was wonderful, being able to spend so much time with Crowley without arousing suspicion, but Aziraphale was painfully aware of how badly they’d screwed up their chance to save the world – and their lives together – and in the scramble to undo eleven years of poor apocalypse management, there was little time for thoughts of intimacy. 

Aziraphale also found himself desperately torn between Crowley and his drive to do good, and as he hid Agnes Nutter’s book and as he deliberately didn’t call, as he shouted under a bandstand words he knew he’d regret, he found that he’d slipped back into treacherous old thought patterns. 

_You can’t trust him. He’s a demon._

A little bit of him wondered if maybe Crowley wouldn’t mind Armageddon all that much. It was the ultimate act of chaotic destruction, and there was always Alpha Centauri, after all. 

Admittedly, the night they switched bodies had brought up _quite_ the raft of interesting thoughts. Aziraphale had felt quite vulnerable in that moment, and it wasn’t due to the prospect of being dragged down to Hell.

He spent that evening with both hands glued resolutely to any surface that wasn’t the body he was inhabiting, and once Crowley left him alone in the flat, he dearly hoped that he was doing the same. They might just be bodies, but it felt distinctly odd to both literally inhabit the object of your desire and simultaneously watch said object of your desire walk around in _your_ body. Aziraphale might have wanted to put his hands on Crowley and put Crowley’s hands on him, but he very much didn’t want to do it like this. 

He was spared the torture of contemplating this for too long by being dragged into the torture of Hell, which was, almost, a relief. And then (thank Someone) their plan worked _perfectly_ , and here they were, strolling through the London night, hand in hand, headed for the bookshop.

It had worked so well, Aziraphale thought, relishing the feel of soft skin and bony fingers in his grip, that he wondered if She did actively encourage this after all.

Here they were, in Aziraphale’s kitchen, uncorking a bottle of wine.

Here they were, on the sofa, Crowley’s head in Aziraphale’s lap again, sipping their drinks and happily recounting the past eleven years and everything they were thankful they hadn’t lost.

‘Aziraphale’, Crowley started, as the conversation lulled and the angel swirled his wine around the glass.

He lingered on his name, and Aziraphale knew what he was going to ask. It’d been niggling at the back of his mind all day too. No more interruptions. No more worries curling in their chests and manifesting in cleared throats, broken eye contact, steps backwards.

‘Yes’, he said, meeting Crowley’s eyes. ‘ _Please_.’

In a second Crowley was in his lap – and not just his head this time, but his whole being, knees squeezing Aziraphale’s waist. The angel felt his breath catch in his throat, and he reached out – shaking, he realised – to touch Crowley’s chest. He ran his fingers over the sliver of exposed skin, noticing the softness of him, and the tiny dark hairs.

The sigh that emanated from his demon was glorious.

Although, not quite as glorious as what Crowley did next, when he took the angel into his arms, fixed him with a look of tragic, shattering adoration and – _finally_ – kissed him. 

The best way Aziraphale could describe that kiss afterwards was _all-consuming_. He hadn’t been a hundred per cent sure how he was going to fare progressing from a somewhat chaste first kiss to something like this, but the trick seemed to be _appetite_ – and after 6000 years they were both ravenous. There were grasping hands and tongues and teeth, and although he was sure that this looked _nothing_ like the violin-accompanied scenes at the end of a romantic comedy, he couldn’t get enough of the feel of Crowley’s mouth on his, couldn’t believe he’d existed up until this point without it, couldn’t bring himself to care that they had collapsed, undignified, into the couch cushions. Both were taking full advantage of the fact that they had no need to breathe. Breathing was window dressing, and this was _everything_.

It was when Crowley flipped their positions – so that it was Aziraphale’s weight now pinning Crowley to the couch and not vice versa – that the enormity of the situation hit.

Panic jolted through the angel, and he found himself pulling back rather abruptly. Crowley stopped what he was doing too, and observed Aziraphale with wide, concerned eyes.

Those usually slit-like pupils were very dilated, although he could see Crowley was doing his best to temper the desire in them while he waited for Aziraphale. 

‘Too fast?’ his demon asked, gently.

‘A bit’, Aziraphale admitted. He wondered how this could possibly be true when ten seconds ago he wouldn’t have noticed if the book shop was on fire again, but apparently it was. Bother.

‘Is this ok?’ Crowley asked, undeterred but cautious, drawing Aziraphale from his thoughts. He gestured at their seating arrangement. 

Aziraphale beamed. He really was enjoying having Crowley between his legs, now that he’d got over the initial shock.

‘Very much so.’

‘What about this?’ Crowley asked again, planting the softest of kisses on Aziraphale’s lips.

‘Divine’, Aziraphale said, breathless.

‘This?’

He trailed kisses down Aziraphale’s neck and very, very slowly, loosened his bowtie and discarded it gently beside them.

‘More than okay.’

Crowley contented himself with unbuttoning Aziraphale’s shirt painstakingly slowly, and the angel leaned into him again, cradled his head in both hands and buried his face in Crowley’s hair, kissing him softly on the top of the head over and over.

‘What spooked you then, angel?’ Crowley asked, gently working the second button free. 

Aziraphale felt him kiss the newly exposed flesh, and he shivered.

‘I suppose when you pulled me on top of you, it felt more like _I_ was in control.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes. And – uh – it’s not _really_ the sort of thing that an angel should be participating in so enthusiastically. Especially not something they should… be leading. Which I wasn’t, but it felt more like I was.’

He stopped.

‘I was enthusiastic’, he clarified.

Crowley was looking at him. His expression was difficult to read: concern and fear and maybe a tiny hint of disappointment, which he tried gallantly to conceal.

‘I’ve been in love with you for thousands of years,’ Aziraphale said, and the statement drew an involuntary gasp from the demon beneath him. He supposed that was the first time he’d said it out loud. 

‘But’, he continued, ignoring the fluttery feeling that Crowley’s growing smile was giving him. ‘I found it a bit easier to handle when anything like this was a complete impossibility. I don’t know if you recall, but “falling in love with a demon, ruining the Great Plan and then making love with aforementioned demon on your sofa to celebrate” is more or less the last thing an angel should being doing.’

Crowley spluttered and choked at that last sentence, his eyes widening.

‘That doesn’t mean I don’t want this, and it doesn’t mean I won’t be devastated for the _next_ thousand years if you decide to stop taking my clothes off. I just – can’t go as fast as I thought. I think I need to get used to each little thing.’

Crowley nodded very slowly. His fingers instinctively went back to the shirt buttons, but he didn’t undo any more, not yet. He just stroked the exposed skin absently, and stared.

‘ _Thousands_ of years?’

‘I – I think so, yes.’

‘We could have been doing this _thousands_ of years ago?’

‘I – uh – ‘ Aziraphale stuttered and blushed, and his heart soared as he took in Crowley’s meaning. ‘Not really. Divine retribution. Demonic retribution too.’

‘It would have been worth it’, Crowley said, kissing Aziraphale on the mouth again. ‘I _adore_ you, Aziraphale.’


End file.
